Prove Me Worthy
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: SuperCat: Cat longs for power, has built her entire career and life upon the inherent need to have it, and Kara is openly relinquishing it, giving it away piece by piece, a little more each day.
1. Prologue

Cat would be lying if she claimed not to notice.

It's frankly difficult to ignore, no matter how often or hard Cat has tried to do just that, and Kara – _Supergirl_ , Cat scoffs into a smooth glass of bourbon with half-hearted irritation – while certainly extraordinary in any vast number of ways, can clearly not count subtlety among her extensive list of attributes.

The truth, Cat admits, is that she is honestly uncertain if the girl reveals herself purposefully by way of that rare, but always (worshipfully) welcomed brazenness that Cat has occasionally known her to exhibit, or if Kara Danvers is simply so innocently naïve with her feelings that she has survived twenty-five years of her life without ever bothering to learn an effective method for hiding them away.

Because Kara may fruitlessly attempt to keep her true identity under wraps – out of reach from Cat's itching curiosity, away from fingers that ache in a dangerous sort of way to peel apart each and every one of the girl's fascinating layers to reveal the depths that lie beneath – but aside from that, aside from the one, now glaringly obvious truth that flimsily keeps them apart, Kara hides very little else from Cat Grant. Both Kara and her alter ego seek Cat out exclusively, in fact; spill secrets even Cat realizes that no one else is privileged to share, whisper quiet confessions of loss and insecurity that no one else will ever be allowed to know, offer Cat trust with a kind of profundity that the media mogul is certain she has done very little to earn, but that Kara stubbornly offers to Cat alone, and no one else.

Cat values that in Kara. She values her trust, yes– yes, of course Cat values that, but more, Cat values Kara's loyalty, that loyalty that is only for _Cat_ , and the older woman greedily laps it up like a bowl of cream to her namesake. And in response to it – as a _reward_ for it, Cat is self-aware enough to acknowledge, though she does so rather grudgingly – Cat listens. She listens, listens, _always_ listens, and – only at the end; only when she is sure that Kara is finished, sure that Kara has offered all that she is willing to give Cat, in that moment – Cat tenderly (or aggressively, as is more often necessary with the _Sunny Danvers_ aspect of the girl's wretchedly confounding character) offers her advice.

And, reliably, Kara follows that advice blindly, with a heart that is far too wide and invests far too much trust in the ever-cynical Cat Grant, and the Queen of All Media regularly finds herself floored with irrationally genuine _pride_ at the typically exceptional result.

Which makes this entire… _situation_ that much more difficult for Cat to brush aside.

And how can she be expected to? Cat wonders, forearms draping across the railing of her office balcony, fingers loosely clasping the amber-filled tumbler hung across the edge as her eyes belligerently turn toward glittering stars, in what Cat will eternally deny is an effort to seek out the very girl who has saddled her with this conundrum, in the first place.

How can Cat truly be meant to ignore the way that her obviously misguided assistant has developed a clear reliance upon Cat's instruction in ways that extend far beyond the safety of her office? The way that Kara – especially when she is Supergirl, when she wears the suit, when every decision she makes could mean life or death for any number of innocents who call this city home – has come to rely upon Cat for direction when the girl herself is too overwhelmed to make important choices on her own? How can she ignore the way that Kara glows and stammers and stumbles at the thrill of even a hint of Cat's prized and sparingly offered praise, when she follows Cat's directions _well?_

Cat is a remarkable woman, she knows – there's no denying it; Cat had dug her claws into the corporate ladder and created an entire empire upon reaching the top to make certain no one ever could – but how can even she, impressive as Cat knows she is, wield the kind of restraint necessary for her not to notice the way that Kara is so blatantly, _desperately_ eager to submit herself to Cat's will? The way that she so constantly strives just to make Cat proud?

How can Cat fortify her strength enough to ignore how entirely willing Kara Danvers is to _please her?_

Cat Grant possesses a wealth of power, and she exerts that power on most occasions simply because she _can_ , simply because she has earned it, has fought for that power and won it; Cat will feel no shame for flaunting her prize when presented with an opportunity to do so, but Cat Grant also did not become the Queen of All Media by settling for what she's given. She is always craving more, always reaching for it, always thirsting for as much power as she can cradle between her perfectly moisturized hands.

And Kara – perhaps without knowing, perhaps without realizing, though Cat is not ready to discount the notion that the girl is both entirely aware of her own wants, and of the ways that she has actively sought to fulfill them – is offering Cat the power to have the Girl of Steel on her knees, all for her. _Just_ for her.

The most powerful person in National City, perhaps the world – because, alien or no, Supergirl _is_ a person and her power, much like her mentor's, refuses to be denied – and she could be _Cat's._ She could be Cat's to hold, to worship, to praise, to guide and mold as she sees fit; she could be Cat's to reprimand, to keep in check, to use as she pleases and punish when she doesn't. Supergirl could _belong_ to her, Cat knows – would probably wear a collar with Cat's name and phone number and home address inscribed, if Cat would only ask it of her, and Kara Danvers would blush from head to toe and probably collapse in submission with nothing but instinct and pleasure, in an immediate effort to prove to Cat her already-apparent devotion.

Cat longs for that kind of power, has built her entire career and life upon the inherent need to have it, and Kara is openly relinquishing it, giving it away piece by piece, a little more each day.

And Cat, as she has always done, craves it. She thirsts for it, thrives on it, needs it – and, heaven help her, Cat Grant is going to _reach for it._

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Could be a one-shot, or a multi-chapter... depends on how it's received. ; )


	2. Chapter One

_Author's Note:_ Stylistically, I'm not sure how well this chapter meshes with the last, but I hope it flows okay. Let me know what you think!

* * *

Cat Grant does not waver.

It is a lesson she learned early – that all decisions must be made with surety, finite and nonnegotiable, airtight and with poise. It is a lesson she learned long before the rise of CatCo, before her rise to power, and it is a lesson Cat learnt well. She does not second-guess – that isn't in her blood. She does not waffle, hesitate, or falter, both because pride will not allow it and because she knows well how often such vacillation is cited as cause for a prominent decay in respect.

And so Cat does not waver in her decision to take Kara, to claim her, to make the girl her own, because Cat will lose respect from no one, not even from herself.

Instead, Cat tells herself, she bides her time.

Kara is young and earnest and too generous for her own good, and it is possible, Cat considers, that she has no idea what she is doing, no idea what she is persistently and obstinately working her way toward. It is, in fact, entirely possible that Kara is simply _that_ naïve, possible that she does not know all of the things Cat is capable of doing to her with the sort of power that Kara so liberally offers her, let alone what Cat might _want_ to do with it once she finally latches on. It is possible – and, she thinks, highly probable – that Kara is hugely overestimating her faith in Cat, and surely overestimating the measure of trust that might be safe for her to _give_ to Cat.

Safety is relative, of course, Cat muses idly, because she would never _hurt_ Kara, no – couldn't, really, or at least not truly, not in any physical way that might last, much as she privately bemoans the fact – but Cat can certainly _damage_ her. She is capable, has done it before, has torn Kara's confidence and shredded her passions with nothing more than a few pointed words, a bit of masterfully insensitive manipulation, and a decisively belittling flair for arrogance, but isn't that the point? Cat is only able to affect Kara so profoundly because Kara grants Cat the power to do so. She wears that pure heart bare on her sleeve and lets it beam through those pretty blue eyes without caution, lets Cat see every little thing that makes her sparkle so brightly and more, allows Cat – and Cat alone – to know precisely how to strip her of that effervescent shine.

Cat can't help but rise to the bait, on occasion; can't help but snap a cold complaint or dismissal just to witness the way that Kara recoils in answer, to feel the shake of sheer authority along her spine at the indulgence of confirming that she alone can make Kara _weak,_ can make her ache for Cat's praise in place of her ire. She enjoys the thrill of it, yes– _oh yes,_ Cat enjoys it, perhaps even enough to eradicate the vague (and sometimes galling) sense of guilt that plagues her in the frequent event that her frustration with Kara is unwarranted – but even more, Cat enjoys the soft hum of satisfaction that settles low in her stomach when Kara works that much harder to earn Cat's pleasure, dedicates more than her usual, already above-average effort into placating Cat in every deliberately impossible way that is demanded of her.

The Queen of All Media yearns to demand more, but Cat is biding her time.

Much of the appeal in absorbing Supergirl's power is the equal measure of power Cat knows she must demonstrate in order to lure it in, the amount of power she must hold over Kara to elicit such a submission in the first place, the rush of knowing Kara wants to bequeath her power solely because Cat _wants it from her._

She needs to work out how much Kara is truly willing to surrender _knowingly_ , how much Cat can take from her before Kara will draw the line and push back, because Cat Grant wants it all, and – true to form – Cat will settle for nothing less. She wants to take and take from Kara Danvers, wants to consume both her and her power whole, wants to bend her and break her and restore her at will. Cat will be patient if she must, if Kara is not ready to offer it all, but Cat demands total command and nothing short of that will do. If Kara is not prepared for that, then Cat will wait, will prove herself worthy of the power Kara wields and conquer both it and Kara completely, in time.

First– first, she needs to test Kara, needs to test the limits (of which Cat hopes there are few, if none at all) of the girl's seemingly tireless loyalty, test the strength of her devotion, because it all means nothing to Cat without it.

The only question becomes _how?_ How can Cat test Kara so intimately without physically imposing that very same intimacy? How can she tap into Kara's deepest desires without forcing Cat's own upon her? How can Cat prove that Kara truly _wants_ Cat to take that power from her without prematurely depriving her of it with potentially devastating (and highly unsatisfactory) results?

The dilemma riddles Cat for days – _weeks_ – until, one fortunate day, she is presented with an opportunity.

Her latte is extended promptly, as always, but it is displeasingly warm – not hot – in a way that it hasn't been since Supergirl first emerged. Cat has seen Kara bleed, knows her superhuman abilities can, in fact, be overextended and short-circuit, knows exactly what this obvious lack of heat vision means.

Cat sneers to cover for the abruptly invasive glee that threatens to reveal itself too soon, and promptly drops the lackluster coffee into the trash at Kara's desk.

"My office," she says coolly, hardly pausing her strut to appreciate the crestfallen expression that follows her. _"Now,"_ she demands, though she knows Kara needs no further incentive.

Kara stumbles in after her, carefully shuts the glass door as Cat shoves her purse at her desk and settles into her chair like the Queen she has become, wrists draped blithely across the arms, legs crossed at the knee. She holds herself still, watches Kara intently, watches the way she moves, the way she fidgets uncomfortably in the face of Cat's wrath and tangles her fingers, eyes averted in an already promising display of submission.

Cat holds her stare for several moments longer just because she can, because she enjoys it, enjoys watching Kara squirm for her, enjoys the way that Kara's lips part, probably in some wasted effort to defend herself – and then Cat holds the stare a moment longer to _relish_ in the way that Kara seals them back together again.

Kara is a smart girl, she knows that Cat Grant does not accept excuses, not even from her.

Especially not from her.

"Do you _try_ to sabotage me, Kiera?" She taps the toe of her Michael Kors impatiently, resolutely unaffected by the flattering blush of humiliation that glows from Kara's ears straight down through her chest – and just how far it stretches below that, Cat can only speculate, but one day soon, she will make it her mission to rid of that horrid cardigan and find out. "All I ask," she hisses slowly, "is for a latte – _hot_ – to start my day off right. A little heat, a punch of caffeine – that's all I want," she sighs, as put upon as she can manage, and shakes her curls in a slow, evident display of disappointment. "I was under the impression that you'd grown to _care_ about my wants, Kiera."

"I- I do, Miss Grant!" Kara stutters gracelessly, shuffling forward a step despite her apparent shame, like she cannot help but physically prove to Cat that she is eager to make this admittedly meager mistake right, to give Cat everything she wants. "I know how important your routine is to your day, and I'm- I'm sorry about your latte. I- I wish – " she flusters uncomfortably, hands flying helplessly out towards her sides before she groans audibly and deflates. Her shoulders fall, her chin sinks to her chest, and _oh,_ Cat wants her on her _knees_ like this, submissive and desperate and entirely at Cat's mercy.

She inhales a sharp breath and calls it anticipation, which is only passably acceptable, and is only that because anticipation fits perfectly for what Cat next intends to say to Kara, even if the conversation is not what caused it to flare.

"You wish…?" She leans forward keenly, eyebrow sliding knowingly, expectantly upward as her fingers curl, white-knuckling over the padded arms of her chair.

"Miss Grant, I – _you know,"_ Kara huffs in frustration, "you _know_ that I would – that if I _could_ – I would- I would – "

"You would _what,_ Kiera?" Cat snarls impatiently, too eager for her own good, too eager for this too-long-awaited reveal.

"I would heat it for you!" Kara sputters in a single, guilty breath. "I would heat it right now, if I had to, if I _could,_ Miss Grant, but I… _can't,"_ she whispers weakly and shrugs. "I don't- have that _power,_ " she confesses softly, eyes downcast and defeated, defeated by Cat's glare, Cat's expectations, defeated by _Cat_. "Not right now, Miss Grant," she sighs, shaky and lost, vulnerable and _perfect._

Cat bares her teeth in a slow, satisfied grin. She can't help herself, can't help the sense of smugness that inflates her ego for having _known,_ for having finally pried the secret out of her sunny, guileless assistant's throat, can't help the thrum of satisfaction that quivers in her voice as she purrs, clear, seductive, and proud, _"Good girl, Kara."_

The girl's knees weaken – give entirely, in fact – hands catching on Cat's desk for support and leaving prints that Cat will refuse to have cleaned for weeks, blue eyes wide and pupils dark enough to snare Cat's reflection inside.

"Tell me more," Cat commands, a decadent husk to her words that tugs a soft, bemused little whimper from between Kara's pretty, parted pink lips.

Cat could take her now, she knows – could take her here, in her office, with every one of her employees gaping through the glass walls – but she won't, she can't, not yet. Kara is giving Cat _more,_ but she has not given Cat _everything_ , has not given Cat her all, has thrown out her hands to brace herself because she will not fall to her knees for Cat here, not for the first time.

Besides, Cat smirks wickedly, idly thumbing the ring of her right hand, Supergirl is powerful and breathtaking and _hers,_ has always been hers, will continue to be only _Cat's,_ and Cat will not share her. Not with anyone.


End file.
